we meet again
by janemac24
Summary: Emma Swan is having a terrible day, made even worse by multiple run-ins with an irritable woman who seems to think she can't do anything right. As their chance encounters continue, though, Emma and Regina both start to realize that maybe the other isn't so bad after all. Good thing, too, since it appears that they'll be seeing much more of each other. Pre-SQ one-shot.


**Based on prompt: _"they bump into each other in a coffee shop & then a bakery at lunch & more general awkward encounters during a day and then TURNS OUT ONE IS THE NEW NEIGHBOUR OF THE OTHER AU."_**

**As always, I don't own OUAT or any characters in this story.**

* * *

><p>"Shit!" Emma Swan exclaims as she rifles through the third box she's had to cut open, destroying her nicer pocketknife in the process. Fucking Mary Margaret and her weird organization system and unreasonable obsession with packing tape! She'll be late to work if she can't figure out where her bras are.<p>

Finally, she throws a shoe against the wall, drawing some angry mutters from the adjoining apartment, and decides that her morning cup of coffee is far more important than breast control. It's not like she's going to see anyone who cares at work, and her professor always does slides on Monday, anyway. She throws on her thickest, baggiest sweater to hide the evidence, grateful that she no longer has a roommate to judge her. Not that Mary Margaret was _that_ awful to live with, but...

No, she really was. At least after she'd gotten a boyfriend and somehow forgotten that the walls were incredibly thin. Emma's better off on her own, anyway.

Does she have time for coffee? _Yes!_ she thinks triumphantly when the bug turns on after the first try. It's often a bit temperamental on chilly days, but this morning it starts without a hitch.

She's feeling pretty good about herself as she walks into her usual café - just down the street from the pediatric dentist's office where she answers phones in the morning - whistling under her breath and generally not looking where she's going until bumps up against someone and hears a loud yelp.

"Watch where you're going!" an angry female voice hollers just as Emma feels scalding hot coffee slosh onto both of them. Emma looks up guiltily to see the woman she's just walked into – petite brunette, eyes ablaze with fury, bright red lipstick, dressed impeccably except for the coffee dripping down her front.

"Oh my god!" Emma exclaims. "I'm so, so sorry. I wasn't paying attention."

"Well, that's obvious," the woman growls, her chest heaving from shock and tugging at the already straining buttons of her shirt. Emma tries not to look, but it's like there's a magnet drawing her gaze right to the woman's ample cleavage. "Are you going to do something or just continue staring at my breasts?"

"Oh, right! I'll...um..."

Without finishing her sentence, Emma rushes inside and flashes the barista, Ruby, a plaintive glance that thankfully lands her with a whole pile of damp towels. "Tough break," Ruby says sympathetically. "She's not one to mess with." Emma nods her thanks and returns to her victim, hands shaking as she starts to dab at the stained area with a towel.

"I'll do it," the woman snaps, "since you're _obviously_ too distracted to do a thorough job."

"Not distracted," Emma mumbles, but the woman ignores her and snatches the towels out of her hand.

She continues to stare as the woman furiously scrubs her shirt, trying to ignore the heat building in her core at the sight of the increasingly transparent white fabric clinging to the woman's skin.

"This is ridiculous!" she finally spits, practically throwing the towels at Emma. "I need to get to work."

Emma watches the woman's back as she storms away and gets into one of the cars parked along the curb. It's a black Mercedes, in a slightly older style but pristine condition – seems about right. There's a loud slam and a terrifying screech of tires on pavement as she pulls away.

"Crazy yuppie types," Ruby mutters from behind Emma, borrowing some of her grandmother's slang. "Lot of people like that in the neighborhood these days with the new office building opening." Emma shrugs one shoulder in agreement, still watching the car. She'd be far more inclined to agree with Ruby's "people like that" assessment if it weren't for the one detail that doesn't quite add up: the colorful car seat in the right rear window.

* * *

><p>"Let me guess," Tiana says with a grin when Emma walks into the bakery, on her daily pilgrimage to pick up lunch for the office. (Aurora brings their second coffees in the morning, Mulan buys the fro-yo around mid-afternoon, and Lance gets the drinks during Friday night happy hour – they make a good team.) "Turkey with cranberry and chard on rye for Aurora, curry chicken salad on multi-grain for Lance, veggie wrap for Mulan, and...grilled cheese on white for you?"<p>

Emma smirks, shaking her head in disbelief. "Sorcery. How do you do that?"

"It's Monday," Tiana replies, "although yours never changes."

"That figures," a scornful voice says behind her. Emma whirls around to see the woman from the café, lips pursed judgmentally, with the new addition of a small child clinging to her leg. "I wouldn't have expected someone like you to maintain a healthy diet."

"Excuse me? Someone like me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?" demands Emma, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I'll thank you not to use that kind of language around my son," the woman says coldly.

Emma's brain tells her to react angrily – this woman chose to pick a fight with her for no reason at all – but her body doesn't listen. She thinks she might feel herself blushing. "Sorry, kid," she mumbles.

The little boy giggles. "Mama, you say hell sometimes in the car," he whispers, and Emma decides she likes him.

"I only say hell when I'm dealing with idiots, like certain people who spill coffee on other people's shirts," she explains, with a pointed look at Emma.

Her kid giggles again. "That was you?" he asks Emma.

"Yeah, and that's why you should probably listen to your mom when she tells you to watch where you're going, or you might end up with an angry lady yelling at you," she grumbles, eyes searching the woman's face to see if her words have curried any favor. They haven't. "Look, I said I was sorry! I'll pay for dry-cleaning if you want, or, like, medical attention if the coffee burned you."

"Order for Emma Swan!" Tiana's assistant calls, and Emma breathes a sigh of relief. She jogs over to the desk and tosses a twenty and a ten at Tiana – "Keep the change," she mutters – before turning back to see if her new apparent nemesis has considered her words at all.

"Luckily, medical attention will be unnecessary," the woman says stiffly when Emma returns, "but thank you for your dry-cleaning offer. I've already brought the shirt to Roger's, over on Park, so perhaps you could come with me when I pick it up tonight and pay the bill."

_Roger's? The expensive one?_ Emma struggles to hold back her growl of frustration. Figures that a woman like_ that _would get her laundry done at a place like Roger's.

"Fine," she sighs.

The woman smiles in a way that looks vaguely predatory. "Excellent. I'll see you there at six, Miss...Swan."

Emma rolls her eyes and grunts her acknowledgement, but it's not until the woman turns on her heel and strides out the door, kid sprinting to keep up behind her, that she realizes. "Wait! What's your –"

Too late. The door's already slammed shut. Emma turns to Tiana in dismay. "She didn't come in here just to yell at me, did she?"

Shaking her head and trying desperately to hide a laugh, Tiana replies, "She and her son ate earlier, but I guess she saw you walk in and came back to yell at you."

"Wonderful," Emma groans.

"Just be careful," says Tiana. "I know you have a thing for women who are mean to you – don't do anything you'll regret."

Emma raises one eyebrow, still staring out the window at the woman and her son as they get into the car. "How do you know so much about me? This is getting kind of creepy."

"Um, you've come here every weekday for the last two years," Tiana points out. "It's not that I don't appreciate the business, but maybe you guys want to branch out a little. Stop being so predictable."

"Thank you for the sandwiches, but not the advice," Emma mutters once the car has finally pulled out and she feels safe to exit. She is certainly _not_ predictable.

* * *

><p>She barely looks up when the door chimes jingle. It's been a busy afternoon: five fillings and one kid passing out in the middle of a routine cleaning, leading to sirens and EMTs and general chaos. She's ready to be done, only willing to speak when spoken to, until –<p>

"Henry, why don't you pick a book while Mama checks in," says an all-too-familiar voice. The tips of Emma's ears burn, and she wonders if there's a convenient opportunity to duck out before the clacking high heels reach the counter.

"Bathroom break," she hisses at Mulan, but the other woman just smirks and shakes her head, gesturing upward to where the mother of their next patient is already waiting.

The woman's lip curls in distaste as she mutters, "You."

"We meet again," Emma says weakly, trying to sound jovial. "Your kid have an appointment?"

"My son, Henry Mills – he should be scheduled to see Dr. Matthews at three o'clock. If you've mixed up the schedule –"

"Nope, no mix-ups!" Emma interrupts. "We have a Henry Mills down for a cleaning at three, but I should warn you that we're a bit behind schedule today."

"Typical," the woman says under her breath.

"Not typical for a patient to need an ambulance, actually. If our information is correct, your son is four years old and his primary guardian's name is...Regina? That would be you?"

"Yes," she replies, although now she looks almost concerned. "Is your patient alright?"

"She'll be fine. I'm just going to need your insurance information, and then you and Henry can get comfortable."

Regina, as she's apparently called, whips out her insurance card with a huff and thrusts it in Emma's face, tapping her foot impatiently while the computer churns through her information. "Alright, you don't have a co-pay today, ma'am, so you can just –" she stops when she sees that Regina is already walking away, greeting her son with much more warmth than Emma has seen her show anyone else all day.

"Spill," Mulan whispers eagerly. "You know her – how?"

Emma groans, leaning back in her chair and wondering how soon she can leave. "Spilled coffee on her this morning. Owe her whatever the cost of dry-cleaning her insanely expensive clothes is. Then I saw her again at lunch and she insulted my grilled cheese, so...yeah, really great morning."

"You get a grilled cheese every day," Mulan remarks. "Maybe you should try to diversify – impress your new crush."

"She's not my new crush!"

Mulan cackles quietly into her hand, and Emma mutters, "Okay, maybe she is." She spends the next fifteen minutes watching Regina Mills and her adorable kid out of the corner of her eye, a dreamy smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Maybe she can try a vegetable tomorrow. Maybe.

* * *

><p>"I do <em>not<em> have a thing for women who are mean to me!" Emma growls into the phone.

Mary Margaret laughs on the other end. "Look, Tiana's right. You _always_ think those types of rude remarks are, like, a sign of true love, and maybe they are in some cases, but some people are also just...you know, rude."

"Okay, I obviously don't think she loves me. That's just stupid. And I don't even believe in true love. And she has a kid, too, so she's obviously already taken."

"Your dumb excuse doesn't even make sense," Mary Margaret argues. "Plenty of single people have kids. And we're not talking about whether or not she loves you; we're talking about whether you love _her_."

"Well, I don't love her either. I just met her today! But you're saying that I'm taking her rudeness as a sign of affection, which is just not true. I know she hates me. But she still has nice boobs. And lips. And shiny hair. And she's really cute with her kid, too. M&M, you just have no idea."

"Oh, I think you've given me a pretty good idea," Mary Margaret says in between fits of giggles. But then she grows serious. "So, what are you going to do about it?"

"Um..." Emma's train of thought dies when she sees the black Mercedes approaching through her rear-view mirror. "I'm gonna pay for her dry-cleaning," she says, voice inexplicably raspy. "And then...probably never see her again?"

"Seems like a great plan," Mary Margaret replies with as much sarcasm as she's capable of employing. "Good luck." A male voice in the background – _David_, Emma thinks scornfully – is telling Mary Margaret the squash is finished and begging for further instructions. Emma hangs up before she's forced to listen to anything else: six months living with the two of them had taught her that no time or place is off-limits.

She slides out of the car and straightens her clothes, trying her best to look presentable. She'd gone home after work to put on a bra and her best leather jacket – not that anything she owns would probably impress Regina, but it's always worth a try.

"Miss Swan," the other woman says, her tone slightly warmer than before, but not much. "Wha"t is that monstrosity you're wearing?"

Emma's face falls. "What's wrong with it?" she whines before realizing that's definitely not attractive. "Oh, and you can call me Emma."

Regina snorts. "Well then, _Emma, _shall we get this over with? I've left my son with a babysitter, and he tends to become cross when I'm absent in the evenings."

"We wouldn't want that," Emma mutters crossly. "I've got to get to class soon, anyway, so it's not like I've got all night, either."

With a curt nod, Regina turns and beckons Emma to follow her through the door. An absurd amount of money later, Regina has her shirt back (in perfect condition – she'd checked every inch of it at least three times) and Emma has fifteen minutes to make the twenty minute drive to her Adolescent Development class.

"Thank you, Miss Swan," Regina says abruptly, just as she's about to get in the car. "I appreciate your assistance in this matter." What she doesn't say – "even though it was your fault in the first place" – is written clearly across her face.

"Yeah, no problem," Emma replies under her breath. "Let's do it again sometime."

* * *

><p>It's almost nine when Emma finally gets home, exhausted and grumpy and – <em>oh shit, please don't let this be happening<em> – inexplicably bereft of her keys.

"No," she moans, leaning against the door and trying not to cry. (Emma Swan doesn't cry. She just doesn't.) Could this day get any worse?

Maybe if she had a hairpin, she could – no, of course not. There's nothing like that in her bag because she doesn't use hairpins. Mary Margaret does, but Mary Margaret isn't here right now, obviously. Not to mention, Mary Margaret would _never_ lock herself out.

Shit, shit, shit. Now she's going to have to call the super on her second day in the building and she's going to get a reputation and probably end up getting evicted and it'll be just like all of her foster homes and –

"Could you please stop pounding on the door?" a voice demands from the next apartment. It's a voice she knows very well: it's...oh, no. "I have a young child trying to sleep. If whoever you're trying to visit isn't – oh."

"Yes, oh," Emma replies, eyes squeezed shut in the hope that the ground will swallow her up if she wills it hard enough.

"It's you...again. _You're_ the new neighbor?"

"Yep, it's me. Locked myself out of the apartment – not that you'd be surprised by that, coming from someone like me, right? And, of course, I don't have any of my lock-picking tools."

"So, call the super," Regina says impatiently. "Stop banging around and waking people up. A lot of children with early bedtimes live in this building."

Emma rolls her eyes and starts fishing through her bag for her cell phone. "Surprised _you_ live here," she remarks. "Neighborhood's a little working class for someone with a Benz."

"You don't know anything about my life, Miss Swan, and it would be most pleasant if you didn't make assumptions about me. Now, do you have a phone, or should I call the super myself?"

"No, I got it," Emma snaps. Regina stays and watches while she makes the call – probably judging her phone manners, Emma assumes – and stares expectantly when she finally hangs up. "He'll be here in thirty minutes," she reports. "So I'll just sit out here quietly and stop disturbing you."

There's a moment when Regina seems to be struggling internally: her eyes are unreadable and her lips twitch a few times like she's searching for words. "You could come in and sit on my couch," she finally offers. "He's running late more often than not – I wouldn't want you to wait in the hallway all night."

"How charitable of you."

Regina ignores her sarcasm and simply holds the door open, gesturing impatiently for Emma to enter. "You're living right next to my son's bedroom: I need to determine if you're trustworthy," she says briskly, though a slight smile betrays her. "I also may have been...unnecessarily harsh to you earlier today. How would you like a glass of the best apple cider you've ever tasted."

After only a brief debate with herself, Emma follows. "Got anything stronger?" she wonders out loud, and Regina lets out one of the most musical laughs she's ever heard. Yeah, she's definitely got a thing for women who are mean to her. This time, though, she thinks it _might_ be reciprocated.


End file.
